


Ig0r

by Samarkand12



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, ゼロの使い魔 | Zero no Tsukaima | The Familiar of Zero
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 04:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15788595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samarkand12/pseuds/Samarkand12





	1. Chapter 1

Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière's greatest fear for the Springtime Summoning Ritual had been the dread that her usual talent for magic would win through. Explosion after explosion, the jeers of her classmates as she revealed herself to be a true Zero, and the certainty she would be packed off to her family estate as quickly as possible. The nights preceding the ritual has been--when not poring over the spells until her eyes ached--spent in restless nightmares featuring her mother and a trapdoor to an oubliette. That is, it had been her greatest fear...until she saw the results of her first effective spell.  
  
For once, the usual catcalls from the peanut gallery had ceased. Even the brash Zerbst had been silenced by what had appeared in the casting circle. The creature rubbing its head could not be called human. _Parts_ of it perhaps had one belonged to a person. Or several. The funereal cut of its suit certainly matched the less-than-lively pallor of its flesh. Scars and sutures covered what exposed skin it had. The fingers on its hand were oddly...mismatched. Its left shoulder was several inches higher than its right; a hunchback worthy of the meanest beggar curved its posture into a grotesque hunch. Its visage could only be called "homely" if said home were a blasted wasteland haunted only by feral manticores and elves.  
  
Were those **bolts** sticking out of its neck?  
  
"Ow. Thit." It rubbed its scalp through jet-black hair cut so flat one could use it as a table. "Oh. Withards. How may I be of thervice, thirs and madamths?"  
  
"Professor Colbert!" Louise squeaked. "I--This is a mistake. Can I um...do over?"  
  
"I am afraid not," the bald-pated teacher said. "The laws of the summoning ritual are very clear. The familiar summoned is that ordained by fate to represent the caster's element and act as her servant in the mystical arts. You must complete the ritual."  
  
Louise whimpered.  
  
"A familiar?" The creature rose to its feet. "I thee. Ith thith Brazeneck University? It doth not look like the Untheen--"  
  
In the end, only desperation and pride drove her to do what she did. She could not fail this. If she refused, she would be kicked out of the school for sure. She'd have to explain to Mother everything. Only a little peck. One kiss. One kiss on shriveled lips criss-crossed by stitches oh Brimir do this quickly--  
  
"PentagonoftheFiveElementalPowersblessthishumblebeingandmakehimmyfamiliar."   
  
"I thay, thith ith motht unprofethional! What? OW!"  
  
Spinning about, Louise the Zero faced the assembled student body of Tristain Magic Academy while the creature hopped about shaking its hand. There! She had done it. Her lips twisted in a rictus. See! Summoned a familiar like a normal mage. The continuing silence of her fellow students was less impressed than she would have imagined. More stunned. Guiche appeared as if she had shown up at a ball in a burlap sack. Kirche for once looked at a man without any hint of lust. Tabitha's speechlessness was habitual...but even she had a greenish tinge to her complexion to contrast with her blue hair.  
  
Louise's eyes rolled back into her head as she fainted away.  
  
++++  
  
Louise mewed as she burrowed deeper into her pillow. The pleasant moments of half-sleep before awareness were usually the best part of the day. In fact, of late they were often the only good parts. She didn't have to face the scorn of her peers or the frustrations of her "condition". No, she could wrap her bed's fine linens while the slightly-open window allowed in a gentle spring breeze. It carried the sweet scent of the meadows and forests surrounding the Academy.  
  
Wait. Spring. The ceremony.   
  
The familiar summoning ceremony.  
  
Louise cracked open one eyelid.  
  
"Hello, mithsteth," her familiar said, a wicked carving knife in one hand.  
  
Louise swiiftly relocated herself from beneath the coverlets to the top of one of the high bedposts.  
  
"Dinner?" The creature raised up a plate in its other hand.  
  
Harmless, Louise told herself. Professor Colbert had insisted that any creature--no matter how powerful--would never be dangerous to its summoner. It was simply impossible. Cowering atop the bedpost was therefore unnecessary and beneath the dignity of the daughter of one of Halkegenia's most noble lineages. Not to mention rather uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Louise inched back down with rather more reluctance than her mother might have approved.   
  
Louise took the time it required to smooth down her sleeping shift into a presentable state to examine the state of her room. The stars outside the window indicated night had fallen; well, the cancellation of classes on the day of the ceremony meant she hadn't missed anything important. Her room seemed in order. Actually, it sparkled. Someone had been very busy with duster and polishing rag. A fresh uniform had been laid out on her bureau. Her cloak hung from a hook with creases sharp enough to split armored plate.   
  
"Did--" Louise swallowed. You could not show fear before a social inferior. "You tidied up while I was asleep, familiar?"  
  
"Of courth, mithstreth." Her familiar's smile twisted into an unholy topology. "The method of sealing the conthract wath a bit unuthual. But according to your profethor's explanathions, ith is binding. Naturally I conthider yourthelf my mithstreth."  
  
"Clearly, you're a--" Louise hesitated. "--being who understands it--his place in the world. You have worked for nobles before?"  
  
"Oh yeth!" Her familiar drew up a small table, setting up a place setting of tablecloth and silverware. "We of the Clan of Igorth are famed for loyal thervith to the nobility."  
  
"I've never heard of Igorth--s. Igors." Louise tentatively raised a tidbit to her lips. It was delicious, actually.  
  
"Perhapth not here," the...Igor?...allowed. "It appearth that the shining dithk I thtepped through wath a portal. Very lucky, in fact. I wath out of a pothition at the time."  
  
"Your employer dismissed you?" Louise closed her eyes in pleasure. Liver and kidneys wouldn't have been her first choice for a meal, but these...  
  
"Our contract wath terminated." Igor shrugged, a fascinating exercise. "Actually, it wath the mathter who wath terminated. Pitchfork and torcthes, the way he would have wanted to go."  
  
"Your math--master was killed by a mob?" Louise gasped. "How horrible, that commoners should rise up against their betters!"  
  
"Win thum, lothe thum." Igor appeared oddly complacent about the murder of his old master. "Sinth I theme to be at loothe endth, finding a job so soon ith fortunate. We Igorth thrive on thervithe."  
  
"You have skills?" Louise asked. "I assume Professor Colbert told you about the duties of a familiar: protection of the mage, finding reagents, lending the mage your sight and--"  
  
Louise contemplated what seeing things through those eyes might be like.  
  
....perhaps she would omit using that aspect of the familiar bond.  
  
"Oh yeth." Igor nodded. "We are uthed to providing thingth for a mathter or mithstreth. Spell componenths, brainth, whatever you require."  
  
"Good--wait, brains?"  
  
"We are also verthed," Igor continued, "in medical thkills and mechanicth, along with the thundry chores needed to maintain a houthhold. If you need a body dithpothed of dithcreetly, an Igor is your men!"  
  
"Haha, bodies, a great jest!" Louise frantically suppressed wondering _where_ Igor had gotten liver and kidneys at such a late hour. "Well, it is late. I...I shall retire, and we shall spend tomorrow accustoming ourselves to one another."  
  
"Ah." Igor coughed into his fist. "There ith one matter. Payment."  
  
"Payment?" Louise blinked. "You must have misunderstood. The familiar/mage bond is a holy ritual. There is no question of giving you wages like some...some scullion."  
  
"We are thervants," Igor said. "No thlaves."  
  
"I have no intention of giving you a copper piece!" Louise rested her balled fists on her hips. The nerve of this creature.  
  
"Well then," Igor said, grabbing a small leather bag, "goodbye."  
  
Goodbye? Igor turned his back on her as if she were nothing. Louise's cheeks flamed. Even her own familiar treated her as a Zero! She couldn't even summon a creature who would give her the loyalty due to her as a noble and its mithstreth. Er, mistress. Well, she would teach him. Louise seized the whip underneath her bed. If this Igor wouldn't respond with proper respect, she would by Brimir beat it into him.  
  
The whiplash whistled down and--  
  
Every nerve in Louise's right arm went numb after Igor caught her wrist, without turning about.  
  
"Thervanths. Not thlaves." His voice was as jovial as ever...but the shadows in the room seemed to deepen. "That ith the Code. Altho, do you know how eathy it ith to cruth the boneth in the human writh?"  
  
"...no..." Louise said, in a tone barely above a whisper.  
  
"I could teach you, if mithstreth would like to find out."  
  
"I'll write a letter to mother immediately!" Louise laughed. "Just a, hah, joke! So how much does an Igor cost?"  
  
Igor told her.  
  
Louise's eyes rounded. The monthly fee in gold pieces would have accounted for the services of a skilled band of men-at-arms. Insanity!   
  
On the other hand--well, specifically the one turning an unhealthy pale shade...  
  
"You can take an advance," Louise said, mourning the loss of the planned post-summoning shopping trip, "from my purth--er, purse."  
  
"Exthellent." Igor beamed. "And no offenth taken. Igors are uthed to the funny little wayth of our employerth. Would you like to continue while I make pathetic noithes?"  
  
"No, you can go." Louise rubbed the circulation back into her arm. "I, ah, apologize, I only have this pile of straw. I was expecting--"  
  
"No matter." Igor laid down on the heap without any hint of problems. "Igorth are uthed to all thorts of accomodathions."  
  
Louise shoved the whip into the most remote recesses of her bureau. Indignation and arrogance had for once acquiesced to the more reasonable tones of her survival instincts. She very reluctantly snuffed out the candle by her bedside. Extinguishing it by magic would have only ended up leaving scorchmarks, given her usual "talent" at the mystic arts. She curled up in the side of the bed opposite to Igor's improvised bed. Cot. Yes. Tomorrow she would inform the castle staff to bring a cot for her familiar. It wouldn't do for her...well, he didn't quite count as a commoner, did he? She was fairly sure he was an un-commoner. In any case, it behooved such a **dear** servant to be given the accoutrements proper to staff of his rank.  
  
Pins and needles tingled in her wrist.  
  
Yes. Yes, indeed.  
  
Sleep was a very long time in arriving for Louise.


	2. Chapter 2

Louise pondered the sleeping form of her familiar in the dim light of dawn. Ordinarily, she never would have been awake this early. The rest she had had during her fainting spell--dammit, in front of all the second years--had clearly unsettled her sleeping patterns. That and the constant knowledge of Igor lying a few feet away from her. Guiche's mole might have been a silly animal to summon;at least it didn't inspire nightmares involving carving knives and a friendly voice telling her to "take her medithine". Failing Summon Servant seemed to be the soft option, now.  
  
No.   
  
Louise straightened up.  
  
She was **not** letting her own familiar push her around. She just needed to be-- Louise's brow scrunched up. What was that word? Oh, yes. Diplomatic. Maybe acting like Eleanor all the time might not be appropriate with the highest class of servants. After all, she was a Valliere. Anything she summoned would of course be the epitome of its kind. Taking Cattelya's example was a better idea. Yes. Although, Louise decided, one had to assert oneself sometime.  
  
Her gaze fell on Igor's bag.  
  
Yes. Any property of her familiar's was hers. She had every right to examine his possessions for anything inappropriate. In fact, it was her duty. She would walk right over and-- Louise tiptoed across the carpets to the bag. It was an odd design--shaped like a wedge, with a metal frame and clasp at the apex, with a handle spanning it along the top. The pebbled black leather appeared worn and battered. Carefully, she eased it open.  
  
Hmmm. No clothes? Just bottles full of strange fluids.  
  
Louise held up one jar with a potato suspended in it. Oh, she knew this game. You had a vegetable and stuck felt pieces representing facial parts into it. How childish! The arrangement of the Potato Man in the jar was, if anything, even more chaotic than Igor's features. An ear there, a lip there, an eye--  
  
The eye _winked._  
  
Igor must have cleaned underneath the bed too. Completely free of dust.  
  
Louise curled into a fetal ball as the sun crested the horizon.  
  
++++  
  
Louise strode into the Alviss Dining Hall several minutes late and utterly devoid of appetite. She had awoken from two hour's worth of sweat-soaked dozing to an Igor waiting with her uniform in hand. Apparently, he was accustomed to mistresses who "prefer to thleepp in confined thspaces". His previous employers must have been decidedly eccentric. Louise did have to admit that Igor had handled her morning toilette with aplomb. He had not raised an--well, his only--eyebrow when she has stripped naked to be dressed. Her nearly-pink strawberry blonde hair had been brushed to a lustrous gloss. Her clothing had been washed and ironed until it had seemed right out of the tailor's rack.  
  
An extremely skilled servant, yes.  
  
Still, Louise was rather glad that commoners were banned from the dining hall. She sat down at her accustomed seat at the middle-year's table. The usual cornucopia of rich food and drink confronted her. Her stomach roiled at the sight. Louise contented herself with a light plate of berries, a bowl of porridge, and a wine glass topped to the very brim. Her hand hovered over a grape. Eye. The eye on the potato had been hazel like her own. Louise drained her wine glass and refilled it from the decanter, not waiting for an Academy servant to pour it for her.  
  
"Louise--"  
  
Wonderful. Her absolutely _favorite_ person in the world sat across from her. Kirche von Zerbst the Ardent had come over, no doubt for another of her usual running commentary on Louise's many inadequacies. Louise could hear it now. Patchwork man, only a Zero would summon something that had been dug out of a grave, etcetera etcetera. Louise almost cried at the sight of the salamander that faithfully followed its new mistress. Kirche had a familiar that she could be proud of. Oh, what fun, Montmorency the Flood had come along as well to gloat--  
  
"You are the bravest woman," Kirche said, squeezing Louise's upper arm, "I have ever known. To summon _that_ and follow through with the Contract Familiar ceremony..."  
  
...what?  
  
"How could you sleep," Montmorency shuddered, her blonde ringlets swaying, "with that abomination in your room?"  
  
"Um." Louise squared her shoulders. She sipped her wine, trying to gather her thoughts. "Well, it was nothing. Any true mage would have done the same."  
  
"Valliere, I am in awe!" Kirche's substantial cleavage heaved. Harlot. "To stay within the same chamber as such a monster, rivals facing an...an elf."  
  
"Yes." Two seats down, Tabitha raised her eyes above her book. "Scary."  
  
"Really, you're being silly." Louise smiled knowingly. "He's only a mere man. Surely you're not afraid of a commoner, Kirche?"  
  
"Of course not!" the redhead said, her tanned complexion flushing. "But he is so warped."  
  
"Do you scream when you see a spider, too?" Oh, she was enjoying this! "Really, if the sight of Igor is enough to unsettle--"  
  
"Yeth, mithstress?"  
  
I am the daughter of Karin the Heavy Wind, Louise reminded herself. I have been taught the Rule of Steel. I have survived Eleanor's Face Pinch of Doom. So I will not catapult myself into the arms of the nearest boy for protection. Montmorency had. Guiche was staggering under the weight of his girlfriend wrapped around his body like a snake around a cadeucus. Kirche had her wand raised in a classic defensive posture. Every seat in a ten yard radius had emptied themselves when _Igor had appeared right behind her out of thin air--_  
  
"Hello, Igor." Hand steady. Don't spill a drop. "Very prompt. That's a neat, ah, trick."  
  
"A thspeciality of our Clan," Igor said. "Doth mithstress require athistanth?"  
  
"Just testing." Louise gestured at the table. "If you'd like some breakfast--"  
  
"I would not prethume." Igor bowed. "With mithstreth's permithion, I thall retire to the kitchenth to eat with the other thervants."  
  
"Granted." Louise flicked her wrist in a shooing gesture.  
  
Louise looked about at the silent dining hall.  
  
"Servants." She raised the wine glass. "You just have to know how to handle them."  
  
****  
  
Siesta navigated the controlled chaos of the Academy kitchens. It was nearly time for the dessert course. It wouldn't do to keep the spoiled bra--noble children in the Alviss Hall from their thrice-daily allotment of cakes and treats. The dark-haired maid with the exotically-canted eyes arranged a collection of pastries that would have fed her family for a month. It made no sense to dwell on that. Keep your head down, be polite, and avoid calling attention to yourself. With that and luck, she might survive long enough for the money to financy a winery and the family she longed for.  
  
"Excuthe me," came a voice from behind her.  
  
Siesta turned to confront a figure out of horror.  
  
"Mr Igor!" she said brightly. "Was your mistress pleased?"  
  
"Yeth," Igor replied. "The tipth you gave about wathing delicaths helped immenthly."  
  
"You have to be careful with silks." Siesta uncovered a plate piled high with sweetbreads, lights, and onions. "I was hoping you would come around. I saved these for you."  
  
"You are an angel, Mith Thiesta." Igor tucked in with obvious relish.   
  
"I'm only a humble maid." A light blush suffered her freckled cheeks. "It's just that I know how hard it is when you're starting out as a servant. Especially with your, ah, condition."  
  
"Condithion? Oh, the lithsp." Igor leaned forward. "Confidentially, it's optional. But it is tradithional in the Clan. My father Igor put great thtock in that."  
  
"Do you have a large family?" Siesta said, working on the arrangement.  
  
"Oh yeth, tho many brotherth," Igor said, nibbling a roasted thymus, "and thithsterth and couthinth. My brother Igor is working for a baron in Bonk, and cousin Igor ith employed at a hothspital in Ankh-Morpork."  
  
"And Igor?" Siesta hefted a serving tray.  
  
"He ith working for Doctor Nemesis." Igor shook his head. "Never writeth or thendths a clackth. Kidth these dayth."  
  
"Oh, he'll grow out of it." Siesta patted a gnarled hand. "I'm sure of it."  
  
Siesta sighed happily after the kitchen doors swung shut behind her.  
  
Sometimes you met the nicest people.


	3. Chapter 3

Louise's triumph couldn't last.  
  
Louise scrubbed listlessly at a smudged section of the classroom wall. For a couple of hours, she had finally garnered a modicum of the respect that was due to her. Whispers and sidelong looks had continued all during breakfast. The tone had been more fearful than awed-- Oh, she had to admit it. Fear tasted _sweet_. Sweeter than the eclairs served for dessert. And Kirche? The over-ripened Germanian hussy had seethed all through the rest of the meal. Doubtless she realized how humiliating it was to have shown terror while Louise had proved the more composed. Hah!  
  
Then that stupid Chevreuse of the Red Clay had ordered Louise to demonstrate Transmutation.  
  
Now, once again, she was back to being The Zero.  
  
A clatter resounded from the ranks of desks behind her. Igor's mad industry put Louise's own half-hearted efforts to repair the classroom to shame. She stifled the urge to berate and discipline him. He was only doing what she asked. If she screamed at him, he would accept the abuse with equanamity and grace. Where was the satisfaction in that? It was like a duck and rain. Well, more like a duck raised by unholy magics from beyond space and time and rain.  
  
"Oh, Igor," Louise sighed, "what ever can will happen to me?"  
  
"I live to therve," came the reply directly behind her.  
  
Okay, eventually she would have a Word with her familiar over that habit.  
  
"Well, you don't have much of a mistress," she said, swiping her rag viciously over the blackened stone wall. "Look at me. I can't even perform a spell a first year can cast after the second lesson."  
  
"Explothionths happen, mithstreth." Igor seized the rag, removing the stain with a few swift strokes. "My mathster before the lath wath thkilled in alchemy. Oh, the blathts and boomth in the lab."  
  
"That sounds dangerous!" Louise said. "You could have been killed."  
  
"Ith hard to permanently kill an Igor." He raised up one sleeve, exposing a myriad of stitches. "Ith wath no trouble for lether injurieth. An Igor alwayth hath a needle and thread handy."  
  
Needle? Thread?  
  
Louise's eyes bulged out when the implications finally settled into place.  
  
"You...put yourself together?" Her stomach less roiled than tried to tear out of her midsection, screaming.  
  
"Igorth are thelf-made men." Her familiar waggled his right hand. "Although we are dependent on inheiritance and gifth for the materialth. This wath my great uncle Igorth hand. Very thkilled at carpentry."  
  
"He clearly did great work." Louise flattened herself against the unfortunately solid stone wall. If only she could do Earth magic and dissolve it!  
  
"He worked with Bloody Stupid Johnson," Igor said as he nailed together a chair. "That wath how he ended up waiting in the jar, waiting for a new body. In the great tradithion of the clan, he lent a hand to we younger generatiothions."  
  
Louise's spine did an excellent impression of a pick working the face of a coal mine.  
  
"If I may prethume, mithstreth," Igor continued, "may I offer some inthight into your thituation?"  
  
"A commoner thinks he can tell me," Louise said, frowning, "about the magical arts? Igor, I appreciate your enthusiasm. But you're hardly qualified."  
  
"Of courth." Igor set another nail into the wood. "An Igor never questionth his mithstreth. Call me curious. I read some of your textbookth to familiarize mythelf with your landth forms of withardry. Do all mageth have problemth with elementh not their own?"  
  
"Well, somewhat." Louise raised a finger in a classic lecturing pose, resting the elbow in the palm of her other hand. "The Elemental Magics taught by Brimir are based on a mage's affinities and willpower. Most dot mages--those who can only use one element--stick to their magical affinity. So do most line and triangles. 'Elements' can also refer to how many a mage can use in a single spell."  
  
"I thee." Igor went on to another desk. "I notithed the pentagram on your schoolth brooch. One point on the thtar for each element. Fire, Water, Air, Earth."  
  
"And Void." Louise pointed at the topmost point of the pentagram. "Although some theories say this point represents the Will, with the pentagon in the center representing Void. Quite academic, as only Brimir was known to have the skill and power to manipulate Void."  
  
"What ith the nature of Void?" Igor asked.  
  
"No one knows." Louise shrugged helplessly. "It doesn't matter much. I can't even employ the common elements, let alone some semi-mythical one."  
  
"Affinitieth." Igor raised his one eyebrow. "They call you a Zero, mithstreth. A nothing. An abthenth...or--"  
  
"Why, thank you for pointing that out!" Louise flared. "Is this how you help your mistress, adding to my hum...ilia...tion..."  
  
Zero. Nothingness. Affinities.  
  
That _was not possible._   
  
"There are thuch things where I come from," Igor said. "Not the absence of a quality, but ith oppothite. There ith knurd, the true opposite of drunkneth, which brings perfect clarity. There ith the dark light which existh on the far side beyond shadow. Can not elementh be the thame?"  
  
Every scrap of theory Louise had crammed into her brain during nearly two years of fruitless study cascaded through her mind. Fire, Air, Water, Earth, with the Void existing between them. A mage transitioning between elements would have to cross the Void. Or was the Void transformative? Destruction and reformation--akin to fire smelting out the impurities of iron, water eroding stone, earth absorbing rain or smothering a blaze. Maybe Void was the essence of the elements, from which all things sprang.  
  
You wrote a zero to mean nothing.  
  
Or wrote it to mean ten, or a hundred, or a thousand.  
  
"Eathy, mithstreth." Igor slid her into a desk when her knees buckled. "There. All finithed. Can I do anything elth?"  
  
"I--" Louise giggled. "You--hahahaha--can always give me Kirche's breasts while you're at it."  
  
"Right away, mithstreth!"  
  
Igor skipped away with resolve and purpose. Louise let him leave without the customary dismissal. Void. Could she be a Void user? Mages always had problems with opposing elemental affinities, even after years of training. If Void was central, then any element a Void mage would use could count as an opposing element. But...what if you used the element in the way her familiar had suggested? The true opposite of fire, it's Void equivalent. Or, instead of Transmuting matter via Earth, you _burned_ the unwanted aspects away with Void. Or even affected the pure aspects of magic itself...  
  
It was around then that Louise heard the frantic screaming.  
  
It sounded like Kirche.  
  
Louise clapped a hand to her mouth. Igor. So helpful. So direct. So _very skilled at surgery._  
  
"IGOR!" Louise screamed at the top of her lungs, slim legs pinwheeling so fast that she could have cast Levitate. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  
  
***  
  
"What shall we do," Colbert said, "with Lady Valliere? Lady Kirche was most traumatized."  
  
"No harm done, Colbert." The bewhiskered and bearded headmaster of the Academy puffed his pipe. "Lady Valliere's request of her familiar was a casual joke. He's obviously a foreigner to our lands. An innocent if almost unfortunate misunderstanding."  
  
"And it wouldn't be wise," Colbert said, hand rubbing his bare pate, "to antagonize one of Tristain's most powerful and wealthy noble families."  
  
"Such an unworthy thought," Osmond said, "never crossed my mind."  
  
A contemptuous "hmmmph" came from the desk in the corner.  
  
"Will you excuse us, Miss Longueville?" Osmond smiled.   
  
"Of course, Headmaster," his private secretary said, keeping the hem of her skirts close about her legs as she left.  
  
"What would you recommend, Professor?" Osmond leaned back, enjoying the view of fabric stretched over a well-formed derriere. "We must after all assuage bruised feelings."  
  
"Sentence Valliere and her familiar to the infirmary," Colbert said. "In another ward **well** away from Zerbst. Poetic justice, and our staff can gain this Igor's expertise. He could teach a square water mage a thing or five about the healing arts."  
  
"Perfect." Osmond blew a smoke ring. "I shall of course visit Lady Zerbst frequently to show how seriously we take the welfare of our noble charges. Oh yes. She shall receive my most sincere attention."  
  
Colbert almost successfully muttered "and her breasts" below the point where it could be made out.  
  
"As for the other matter--" Osmond said, scritching his mouse familiar.  
  
"The runes in the book from the Fenrir stacks," Colbert said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "match those branded on Igor's hand. There is no mistake. He is Gandalfir. The palace should be informed immediately."  
  
"Let's not bother them." Osmond winked. "It might be a coincidence. And in any event, no harm in playing matters close to the chest. Ah, as it were. You of all men should understand the importance of keeping a weapon in reserve."  
  
"Yes, Headmaster," the former Flame Snake said.  
  
Osmond leaned back in his chair, savoring the rich Gallian tobacco.   
  
Ancient runes and freakishly incompetent young women. A familiar clearly from another world. A most...interesting start to the school year. For the briefest moments, the mask of the doddering lecher slipped from Osmond's features.   
  
Then it immediately returned as he recalled Miss Longueville's panties and her most delicious strict discipline. Ah, the privileges of being Headmaster!


	4. Chapter 4

Igor was _very_ skilled at stitching.   
  
The commoner's ward of the Academy infirmary was a small cubbyhole attached to the main chambers. It was staffed by, at best, a dot or line class water mage with access to basic reagents and a few cots for the worst cases. Patients were not expected to linger. They had work to do. Igor had sighed at what he had to work with and shooed away the apprentice healer on duty. Louise's paltry practical magical skills did not extend to healing, as making patients explode wasn't considered the best of treatments. Her mundane skills weren't very useful either. Aside from, perhaps, embroidery.  
  
The kitchen scullion had staggered into the infirmary with a severed forefinger wrapped up in a napkin filled with ice. Ick. Louise had kept her composure through sheer will at the sight of the stump. Igor had lifted away the bandage, nodded, and went to work. On went a salve from the many vials and jars in his little black bag. The scullion had appeared to feel no pain while Igor positioned the digit in place with a form of tongs. A needle flashed as he had sewn a row of stitches so fine as to be nearly invisible. Two wires attached to a large bottle full of murky fluid had flashed a spark of miniature lightning. To everyone's amazement but Igor's, the forefinger had moved. Stiff, yet functional.  
  
The line leading to the commoner's ward reached down the hall and into the staircase.  
  
Louise slipped away from the office. Technically, as a noble she was in charge while working her punishment detail with her familiar. Truthfully? She was pretty much useless there. Strange. For once in her life, being useless didn't seem so...bad. It was almost a privilege to watch her familiar at work. Person after person came to him. So many commoners. Funny. Louise had never noticed them. By training and custom, they were largely faceless functionaries who fulfilled the needs of faculty and students. Only, forced to watch them be prodded by Igor, they weren't anonymous. The scullion's name was Jacques. The maid who had twisted her ankle was Colette.   
  
People. Not...zeroes.  
  
Louise had spent more time than she preferred in the infirmary. Constant explosions tended to require frequent visits. At least today, her only injuries were her pride and clothing. Igor could attend to the latter. The magical lamps on the wall burned low, as it was evening. The dimness in the hallways caused to almost miss Tabitha. The blue-haired wind mage sat cross-legged against a closed door. One of her ever-present books was open in her lap. Louise nodded politely to the girl. She had never had a bad word with Tabitha. Well, more due to that Tabitha never had words good or bad with anyone. Still, she was nice enough.  
  
"Hurt." Tabitha flipped a page. "Kirche."  
  
"She'll be fine," Louise said. "Igor didn't have a chance to anything...um...irrevocable."  
  
"Hurt." Tabitha's lips turned down a billionth of an inch, in a frown. "Won't open door. Can't see her."  
  
"I apologized to her." Louise threw up her hands. "I even volunteered to whip Igor in the Vestril Court. That's more than she deserves after what she puts me through."  
  
"Understand." Tabitha pressed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. "Okay. Her friend, can wait."  
  
Hmmmph. So big bad Kirche was a fraidy cat after all?  
  
Good. None of her business.  
  
The silence behind her and Tabitha deepened.  
  
Louise groaned. Dammit!  
  
She eased open the door to Kirche's hospital room. The airy, vaulted ceiling and grand windows were fit for Halkeginian nobility. The wrought-iron framed bed was empty. In the corner, red hair peeped around a sheet draped over someone. Louise approached her with caution. Kirche had a violent temper when roused, and flame mages were notoriously free with their (literal) firepower. She lifted aside the sheet hiding the Germanian's head. Oh. Not good. Not good at all. Kirche's healthy tan was an unhealthy grey. She quivered like a rabbit at the business end of a hunter's crossbow. She muttered words over and over.  
  
"can't sleep Igor will get me can't sleep Igor will get me"  
  
"It-it's fine," Louise soothed. "I commanded Igor never to hurt you again. He's very obedient."  
  
"can't sleep Igor will get me can't sleep Igor will get me"  
  
"Come along." Louise tugged on Kirche to little effect. "We can put you in the nice soft bed--"  
  
"can't sleep Igor will--"  
  
Reason and kind words clearly were not working. Louise narrowed her eyes. She flexed her fingers. Well. There was also the direct approach.  
  
The crack of her palm across Kirche's cheek echoed off the walls like a musket's discharge.  
  
"OW!" Kirche bolted up, a handprint vivid on one cheek. "You hit me!"  
  
"Yes I did." Louise crossed her arms. "Mainly because I couldn't stand such a pathetic excuse for a human being taking up space which could be used by real noble."  
  
"HOW DARE YOU!" Kirche's cleavage heaved. "I am Kirche von Zerbst the Ardent!"  
  
"The Kirche I know doesn't cower," Louise sneered. "Or maybe all that is just one big show to cover up that a hussy can dish it out without being able to take it."  
  
"Where's my wand?" Kirche cast about madly. "School rules or no, we are having a duel right this second. No one says that a Zerbst is a--"  
  
"Nothing?" Louise said. "You felt like a nothing. A zero."  
  
Kirche froze.  
  
"It hurts," Louise said, tilting her head back to hold her rival's glare. "You feel small. Like an insect. It's a horrible feeling."  
  
"I--" Kirche's throat worked. "I never--"  
  
"See you in class tomorrow," Louise said, spinning on her heels.  
  
There. Done.   
  
"Valliere!" Kirche cried out. "Wait!"  
  
"What do you want, Zerbst?" Louise said, half out of the room.  
  
"You stayed here," Kirche said, "for month after month, listening to us all saying...what we said."  
  
"Yes."   
  
"I told you this morning," Kirche said, bedsprings creaking, "that sleeping with Igor in the same room was the bravest thing I had ever known. I was wrong. That wasn't brave."  
  
Right. Back to normal. Great.  
  
"You stayed here, trying day after day to learn, while every one of us mocked you as worse than a commoner. _That_ is the bravest thing I have ever seen, Louise...the Valiant."  
  
****  
  
"Thith ith perfect," Igor said.   
  
"I knew you'd like it!" Siesta replied, dusting an iron maiden.  
  
The dungeon beneath the Wind Tower had not been used for over a century. Newly-hired commoners were brought here as part of a ritual to impress them on the dire consequences of betraying the Academy. The racks and other torture devices had never been applied for that purpose. Any staff caught in illegal acts were either fired or remanded to the royal guards for punishment. In a land where a noble's word outweighed that of a commoner village, the threat of trial in the courts with a charge by the Headmaster against them was enough. These days the dungeon was mostly used as spare storage.  
  
Siesta thought that Igor deserved a grand hall in the main chambers, not some dingy dungeon with nitre-encrusted walls and rusty chains. He was perfectly happy though. It was the least she could do for such a wonderful man! Word about his generous treatment of the commoner staff had spread through the Academy like a firestorm spell. Why, he had even treated villagers brought in by friends on staff. Without any hint of payment or demand for gratuity. All he had asked for was volunteering to sign a card for a little list he had. A donor's list. Siesta had signed the first one right off.  
  
Igor was more of a gentleman than any with a title!  
  
"There ith rithing damp," Igor said, "and there are raths breeding in the wallth. This ith what I call a proper workspathe."  
  
"It needs a few touches," Siesta said, regarding it with a critical eye. "I can sew you some brocade curtains from scrap pieces. They'll set off the skeleton nicely."  
  
"Every crypt needth a womanth touch." Igor set out the contents of his black bag. "It ith my regret that I spent much of my life not settling down. The follieth of youth."  
  
"So there is no--" Siesta said, dusting furiously, "Mrs. Igor?"  
  
"Igorina." Igor shook his head, one cheek slapping against the higher shoulder. "No, I wathted too much time sowing my wild oaths."  
  
"A lady's man?" Siesta giggled coquettishly. She was being so forward!  
  
"Igorth have..." The little man paused. "I do not with to offend. We are conthidered good catches."  
  
"A good woman would see the good heart beating underneath."  
  
"If she athks nithely," Igor said, lining up sharpened scalpels. "It ith altho our reputation for loyalty and thervice."  
  
Igor paused.  
  
"Along with our enthyclopedic knowledge of the pleasure and pain nevthes of the human body."  
  
"Oh." Siesta's reply could have been mistaken for a rat squeak.   
  
"Mith Thiesta, you theem fluthed."  
  
"Fine have to go!"  
  
Several minutes later, Siesta quivered to rest in the privacy of her room.  
  
Oh, **my**.


	5. Chapter 5

"From Albion to Romalia," Kirche said, "our bosom companionship shall be famous. The Valiant Valliere and the Ardent Flame!"  
  
"Will you be quiet?" Louise hissed. A branch snapped back into her face. "Ow! Idiotic trees!"  
  
"But, then, the clarion call of war sounds!" Kirche gasped. "Our sovereigns will order us to prepare for battle. We will stand across the field of honor, wands raised. Two friends who are now bound to slay one another."  
  
"That day can't come quickly enough," Louise said, teeth grinding.  
  
"And when the end comes, and the victor strides away," Kirche continued, hands clasped to her cleavage, "whoever she is--well, let's face it, me--will be deaf to the songs of about her glory. And, on the anniversary of that fateful battle, she shall visit the tomb of her friend...and mourn."  
  
"You're doing this deliberately," Louise said, horror etched in her features. "This is even worse than when you teased me."  
  
"I know!" Kirche replied with evident glee. "By the codes of nobility, you can't do anything about it. This is great!"  
  
Louise's shout of "EXPLOSION!" was cut short by another ambush by a tree branch. Argh! It never used to be like this when she had hid away at her family's estates. Admittedly, the gardens at home were tended to within an inch of their lives. Any flower or bush which lagged under the gardeners' care immediately perked up when Mother came by to inspect the grounds. The forests around the Academy were full of vicious face-slapping branches and twigs that tripped you up. Even worse was that Kirche navigated the wilderness without a single mis-step. Well, of course she'd be home sneaking around in the dark. She had plenty of practice in her quest to seduce every male in Halkeginia.  
  
No. That was unfair, actually. True to her name, Kirche had thrown herself into self-declared friendship with Louise with the full force of her enthusiasm. Kirche was hopeless helping Louise with her studies. The evenings spent together supposedly doing schoolwork ended up with Louise at her desk and Kirche lounging on the bed. What Kirche lacked in academic rigor she made up for in humour and a fount of scandalous gossip. Many times, Louise had turned aside from books to laugh at the wild tales. Once or twice Tabitha had joined them. Usually silently reading in the corner, but three times had provided monosyllabic yet cogent pointers on Air magic. Even Montmorency had come by last night to grouse about that skirt-chaser Guiche and some first-year he had been playing around with.  
  
One might call them her friends.  
  
Kirche had been more than willing to accompany her...her friend out for a midnight excursion into the woods. Louise could have taken along Igor, of course. She could have even tried her experiments in his dungeon-lab. But--for some reason Louise couldn't articulate, this was personal. It was a noble matter. So she had--with some reluctance--asked her once-enemy for an isolated spot where she could perform magic in private. Kirche had invited herself along as guide to a small, abandoned woodsman's hut. Doubtless it was one of her stock of trysting places.  
  
The hovel in the clearing would certainly not have caught the attention of any noble. Thatch sagging, stone walls cracked--it had clearly been abandoned for decades. Good. If her magic "worked" as it usually did, nothing valuable would be destroyed. The dirt-floored interior at least was free of cobwebs. Perhaps Kirche had come by beforehand to clear it out. The flame-mage tossed a small cord of wood into the hearth, igniting it with a casual flick of her wand. Louise drew black cloths nailed over the few windows--oh yes, this was one of Zerbst's hidden boudoirs--tightly shut to avoid firelight betraying their presence. The two young women hung their cloaks on nails in the wall.  
  
"Alone at last!" Kirche grinned, teeth prominent against her dusky complexion. "Perhaps the minstrels will hint that we're lovers."  
  
"What about Tabitha?" Louise shot back. "You know what they say about the silent sorts."  
  
"The Valiant flourishes her blade!" Kirche leaned forward. "And what do they say about the silent ones?"  
  
"I--I have no idea." Louise blushed. "I don't go into that sort of thing."  
  
"Then we have to get you into it as quick as possible," Kirche said. "Is there no one you fancy?"  
  
"Mother and Father chose one for me." Louise set out a candle and cup. "I am betrothed to Viscount Wardes, of the Griffin Knights."  
  
"An older, experienced man!" Kirche clapped her hands. "Is he everything they say of the Knights?"  
  
"He's...handsome." A flush rose up her neck. "He was always kind, when he visited."  
  
"Those are the best," Kirche said. "Kind, strong...skillful with their swords..."  
  
"IT STAYED IN THE SHEATHE!"  
  
Louise filtered out Kirche's babbling. They had come here for a reason. From a bottle, she poured a half-measure of water into the cup. Even her irrepressible friend quieted when Louise raised her want. Louise steeled herself. This would work. I am Louise the Valiant, scion of the greatest of Tristain's noble families. I have endured the scorn of my compatriots. I have earned the respect of my peers. Alright, Igor helped a lot, but then every noble has the right to call upon commoners for aid. That's what they're for. And here, now, I will do this myself. I am **not** a failure.   
  
She breathed deep.  
  
Void. Not Air or Water or Earth or Fire. I command the noblest element of all.  
  
The power rose within her. It was the midnight between the end of the week and the Day of Void. The mystical correspondences were perfect. Louise resisted the instinct to shape it. You couldn't mold a power that had no form. Louise allowed the magic within her to build. What was within her flickered like flame, flowed like water, was dense as lead, as inexorable as a gale. It was all elements and yet none of them. By the Founder, she could feel it _everywhere_. How could you control it? Instead, Louise released the magic as if it were a spring gushing from the bowels of the earth. She opened her eyes in time to see a color-that-had-no color arc like a serpent into the cup. TRANSMUTATION!  
  
Louise scratched her head at the silvery dust now half-filling the cup.  
  
Er.  
  
"What is it?" Kirche asked. She rubbed the stuff between her fingers. "Odd. It feels dry, yet flows like a liquid."  
  
"Wait a second." Louise added another half-a-cup's worth of water. The dust dissolved, water rising to the brim. "I created dessicated water?"  
  
"I've never heard of that spell before." Kirche grinned. "Louise, you cast a spell. A new spell!"  
  
"I DID IT!" Louise danced in glee. "HAH! Watch this, Ardent Flame. FIRE!"  
  
Fire-that-was-not erupted from her wand, snaking like ebony flames towards the candle....  
  
..and streaked up into the roof.  
  
Flames appeared--cold, white fire that spread frost through the wet thatch. Spreading very, very quickly.  
  
Louise thought of the woods, still green and wet from the spring rains.  
  
The two girls exchanged meaningful glances as the space above them was consumed by crackling frost-flame.  
  
"RUN!"

 

+++++

 

Siesta adjusted the wig perched atop her head. It was a huge artificial pompadour of stiffened, bleached hair that added two feet to her height. It had once been in fashion, when mimicking the appearance of a castle keep had been all the rage among Tristainian and Gallian ladies. Some anonymous noble girl had discarded in years ago. It was often donned by a daring maid who wanted to mock their betters. Siesta had adapted it for more intimate purposes. The front and back had been painted black, with the sides left white. It complemented to corpse-pale make up she had applied beforehand. Charcoal smeared around her eyes left her with a gaunt appearance.  
  
The maid adjusted the long white gown--really, a corpse's winding sheet--so that it revealed a shameless expanse of her bosom. Oh, what might happen if she were caught! A noble could risk scandal. A commoner herself would be thrown out for indecent behavior. But she had to! Quivering, she centered the white cotton choker with the two iron rivets sticking out on either side of her neck. Her breath caught when she lay down on the slab. Wrists and ankles slipped into leather straps on the corners of the stained wooden operating table. Her belly quivered at the pressure on her limbs. There was too much play in them--snug, but not enough to prevent her escape.  
  
The lab door creaked open.  
  
"Thiesta?" Igor said.  
  
"Igor," Siesta cried out, her voice pitched into a death-rattle. "I am dying of love. Please, I beg of you...ELECTRIFY ME!"  
  
"You did not have to do this," Igor said.  
  
"I wanted it to be special." Siesta coyly batted her eyelids. "Do...do you not feel as I do?"  
  
"Of courth I do." Igor smiled. "Would you prefer the thraps--"  
  
"Please--ah!" Siesta arched as the grip of the leather bit into her helpless flesh.  
  
"We must prepare you," Igor said, raising up the hem of the sheet, "for a thorough...examinathion..."  
  
Siesta's eyes rolled back in their sockets.  
  
Oh yes. Oh YES. OH YETH--  
  
"Oh thit. Mithstreth!"  
  
"Igor? Beloved?" Siesta blinked. "Hello?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"ARGGGGGGGH!"

 


End file.
